


Raccoon Eyes, a Meerkat Grin, and Everything Else I Love About You

by xxxbookaholic



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - High School, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Getting to Know Each Other, Ghosts, M/M, Rated teen for swearing, Slow Build, Some Humor, Understanding, i guess, only a little bit, they arent in a relationship in the end but they are in love with each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:33:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27600761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxxbookaholic/pseuds/xxxbookaholic
Summary: As much as he tried, Azami couldn’t hold his glare for very long. With the windows finally cleared up, Kumon’s face practically glowed in the starlight. He was really pale, much paler than he must have been when he was alive, and his hair took on a bluish tint that suited his eyes scarily well. He was inclined to ask if hair dye worked on dead people.But no matter how beautiful he looked in the light, his grin never changed. It made his face look a lot more like a meerkat than a drama show love interest.Doesn’t he have any shame? He wondered. A part of his brain answered, clearly not.orwhen azami was first tasked with going to the abandoned gymnasium for makeup supplies, his plan was simple: get in, grab what he needed, get out.things get a little more complicated when he has to ask the local ghost for directions.
Relationships: Hyoudou Kumon/Izumida Azami
Comments: 4
Kudos: 55





	Raccoon Eyes, a Meerkat Grin, and Everything Else I Love About You

**Author's Note:**

> If you are someone who likes listening to music while you read, I recommend checking out my Azakyu spotify playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0BMOQ4cmgHQk9DIPpcPGMG?si=Frd-JSsiSAqt2E91rcgobA

Azami’s school campus was complicated.

Apparently, according to his old-timer teachers, things weren’t quite so weird in the past. The classrooms were larger, the gym wasn’t split into two different spare rooms, and the former gymnasium to the left of the main building wasn’t quite so charred.

Of course, he couldn’t really complain. Being scouted by Spring Hill Academy had its perks, like free admission and extra courses. Not all schools had classes specifically for makeup. Really, he was just thankful he didn’t have to go to the private Christian school down the street.

Still, he could do without the creepy-ass burned down building next door.

_Why do we even use this place anymore?_ He wondered, shoving open the blackened door. It creaked as if it was about to fall off its hinges and straight on top of him. That wasn’t concerning at all.

If his teacher’s memory served her right (doubtful, considering how old she was), the storage room was the door in the far-left corner.

The storage room was not, in fact, past the door in the far-left corner. (He should have known.) Instead of boxes and school supplies, it was just an old girl’s locker room. There was a dusty mirror sitting in the corner of the room, ashes covering the floor, and locker doors sitting on the benches instead of on the empty shelves.

He didn’t stick around in that room for too long. Just standing in that mess made his nose itch. He shut the door once more and continued onto the next room; the boy’s locker room. It was almost identical to the past room. In other words, gross and musty.

The third room was different from the other two. Sure, dust still littered charred wood panels, expired deodorant bottles still lay forgotten in the corner of the room, spiderwebs still sat on every wall, but unlike the locker rooms, this section of the building (most likely a former office) wasn’t completely devoid of life.

Sitting on the leg of a flipped over desk sat a boy around Azami’s age. He looked completely normal from a distance (or as normal as somebody who enjoyed hanging around a burned-down building could, anyways); messy purple hair, bright yellow eyes that resembled those of a raccoon, rusty silver hoop earrings. However, when Azami took a few steps closer, he noticed one trait that made it obnoxiously clear he was not an average student of Spring Hill; he wasn’t actually sitting on the desk. Rather, he was hovering above it, one leg crossed over as if what he was doing was totally normal.

Azami cleared his throat. The boy hadn’t even looked up when the door opened, despite the creaking that made it abundantly clear he wasn’t alone. _Is he deaf or something?_

Apparently, he was not deaf. The moment Azami’s mouth opened to speak, the boy(?) whipped his head around, stumbling and falling directly onto the floor. In all honesty, he looked even more shocked than Azami, with his eyes as wide as the moon (somehow he managed to look even more like a raccoon) and his jaw dropped.

“What are you doing here?” The boy asked, his voice high-pitched and cracked, as if he hadn’t spoken in a while.

A normal person would probably scream, run out at full speed, attempt to call ghostbusters, or _something_ that would ensure their safety. Like the sane, totally-cautious guy Azami was, he shrugged and replied, “I needed to bring something to a teacher but got lost. Hey, where’s the storage room?”

The boy didn’t say anything for a while and then finally, after getting over his initial shock, he pointed at the door. “There’s another building connected to this one on the right side. You have to go outside and walk around. Hey, how are you acting so calm right now?”

“How else am I supposed to act?”

“I don’t know, maybe terrified. Last time somebody came in here and saw me they panicked and called the police.”

“What kind of police officer would believe me?”

The boy stared off into space for a moment. Azami wasn’t sure if he was pondering an answer, making a plan of escape, or both. Apparently, it was the former. “A pagan police officer.”

Azami almost choked on his own spit. “What the hell?” _Doesn’t he know what a hypothetical question is?_ “Okay, then, dead kid. I’m going to go now.”

“Wait!” The boy scrambled upwards. He placed his hand on the table as if to steady himself despite the fact that ghosts most likely didn’t need physical support at all. (His hovering feet only proved that.)

“What?”

“I’m Kumon!” He grinned, putting a hand out in front of him almost eagerly. His eyes somehow managed to shine even further when he smiled like that. Goofy. That was the only word Azami could use to describe him.

“Okay?” Azami looked down at the outstretched arm, back up at his face, and then turned around to make his way out. “I’m off.”

“Wait, what’s your name?”

“Does it matter? I’m not coming back here.”

“I’d still like to know,” Azami couldn’t see his face, but he sounded awfully genuine. _Don’t people always say not to give out personal information to supernatural beings? Something about curses and shit._

“I’m Azami,” he answered reluctantly anyways. Honestly, the boy – Kumon, he’d said – didn’t seem like he was even capable of curses.

“It’s nice to meet you Azami!” Kumon said. His voice was loud, almost annoyingly so, but he didn’t make any noise when he moved. (unless he just wasn’t moving at all. Azami couldn’t tell.)

Azami didn’t respond to that; just shut the door behind him and made his way out of the gymnasium, thankful to finally be out of that dump.

It was only afterwards, sitting in his class and watching his teacher unpack the box he’d brought, that he really comprehended what the hell he’d just seen.

Really, he was a little bit convinced Kumon was just a figment of his imagination or a student playing tricks on him. He couldn’t think of anyone who would want to play that kind of prank on him of all people, but it was always possible.

His family wasn’t particularly religious (it would be kind of off-putting if they were, seeing as they ran a yakuza), so he’d never even considered the idea that ghosts or the supernatural could be real. To him, it seemed more likely that people just disappeared after death.

Still, he couldn’t think of any other answer. For a bunch of teenagers that hadn’t even finished puberty yet, floating in the air seemed a bit much.

Eventually, he just put the whole thing out of his mind. He wasn’t planning on going back anyways, so it didn’t matter to him. Kumon could find another unassuming student to talk to.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

When he said he wasn’t planning on going back, he meant he wasn’t going back by choice. Apparently, his teacher had other ideas.

_Forgot to ask for the eyeshadow palettes_ his ass. She probably just wanted to make his life miserable. He always knew she hated him.

Of course, he didn’t have to go into the gymnasium. He _could have_ just headed to the storage room immediately and gotten out as quickly as possible, but he had to admit, the whole situation was bugging him. _Was Kumon always there?_ He couldn’t help but wonder late at night, when all he could do was think himself to sleep. _Did he ever leave? Were there other ghosts to talk to? Was he lonely?_ If he had the chance to get an answer to those questions, he would take it.

So there he was, standing in the entrance of the burned down office and searching the room for any sight of the ghost.

He was nowhere to be seen. The room was completely barren of everything except for burn marks and dust. _So, it was a prank then._ He was about to turn around and leave when someone spoke up from behind him.

“You’re back!”

Azami spun around, taking a few steps back and scanning the speaker. Low and behold, there was Kumon, goofy smile on display for all (or just Azami, he supposed) to see.

“I was asked to bring something to my teacher.”

“I already told you, the storage room isn’t in here.”

Azami scoffed at that. “I know. My question is why _you’re_ here.”

Kumon furrowed his eyebrows, arms falling limp at his sides but feet still hovering over the floor. (He needed to stop that. It was starting to freak Azami out.) “This is just my place.”

“Your place? Like, your house?”

Kumon paused for a moment and then he broke out into giggles. “Of course not!”

“Then what do you mean by ‘your place’?” Azami crossed his arms, tapping his foot impatiently. Seriously, was it really that hard to answer a question?

Kumon regained his composure and then explained, “all ghosts have their ‘place’. It’s usually just a place that meant a lot to that ghost during their life.”

“And so a burned down gymnasium meant a lot to you?” He asked, incredulous.

“It wasn’t burned down at the time,” Kumon shrugged, “when I was alive, this place was just a normal gymnasium.”

“Geez, you’re old.”

“Hey!” Kumon gasped, scandalized. “I’ll have you know that this place only burned down a few years ago! I don’t know where you’re getting your information.”

Azami rolled his eyes at the exaggerated response. “Still older than me.”

“Not really. My mental and physical age hasn’t changed at all, I think.” _He thinks?_

“I can tell. You act like your mental age hasn’t changed since fifth grade.”

The ghost’s jaw dropped open in a shock that made it look like he was mocking him. It only further proved his point.

“How?” His voice somehow managed to be even louder than usual.

“Like that.”

“Really?” Kumon paused for a second and seemed to try his best to glare. Really, it just looked like a puppy whose tail just got stepped on.

“You aren’t helping your case,” Azami said, allowing himself to smile, just a little bit. Their conversation was flowing so easily that if it wasn’t for the burn marks he’d finally noticed infecting Kumon’s neck and the whole not-standing-on-the-ground thing, Azami would have assumed they were no different from each other.

“Can you leave?” He asked, looking around at their surroundings. He couldn’t imagine being forced to stay in such a stuffy place for longer than twenty minutes, let alone all of eternity.

“Nope!” Kumon exclaimed without really thinking about it, lacing his fingers behind his back. “It isn’t too bad, by the way. There’s a room in the corner that’s been cleaned out since the fire. There’s no fancy furniture or anything but the floor works just fine.”

“Would you even notice the difference between sleeping on wood and sleeping on a mattress?”

“Oh, I definitely would! I mean, it’s not like I need to sleep in the first place, but I like to. Ghost or not, I can still tell the difference between different objects and platforms.” He said this like it was just another everyday conversation, as if he’d already come to terms with his way of living.

Azami almost felt bad. Being forced to stay in such a gross, isolated place had to be horrible, especially for someone as seemingly social as Kumon. He was about to ask another question (what did he do to entertain himself?) but before he got the chance, Kumon pointed at his watch.

“Don’t you need to bring supplies to your teacher?”

“Oh shit,” he said, twisting around to rush back to the storage room. “I’m off!”

Kumon laughed. “Bye!” He called, his voice getting cut off by the creaking of each floorboard.

Of course, because the concept of time was conspiring against him, he was late getting back to class and got scolded by the teacher (and laughed at by Banri, that son of a bitch). In all honesty, though, he couldn’t bring himself to care about the threat of detention for the next time he “dawdled” when all he could think about was how miserable Kumon must be (and how crazy his situation still was).

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

When he was sent to the old building a third time, Azami was pretty certain more people hated him than his teacher.

Kumon barreled out of the boy’s locker room the second he stepped into the building, almost hitting his face on the doorframe (apparently, according to him, he was, in fact, a solid human form) and falling to the ground.

“It’s like you get clumsier every time I see you,” Azami pointed out before Kumon could greet him, one eyebrow raised.

“Oops!” He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s just not everyday that people visit me more than twice! Or more than once! Or at all!” His voice was laced with joy and triumph, but even with the smile on his face and the hands fisted under his chin, Azami could see the dull loneliness that shined in his eyes.

“How many people have actually seen you?” He couldn’t stop himself from asking.

Kumon mouthed a few words to himself, probably thinking over the question, and then said, “just you and a girl from two years ago. I don’t think she goes here anymore, but it doesn’t really make a difference, since she only saw me once. She came for the same reason you did. Saw me and freaked out. She had a guy passing down the hallway get the stuff instead.”

“And he didn’t see you?”

“Nope! It seems like only a select amount of people really can. I guess that makes you special,” he shrugged. Even his smile seemed strained at that point. Azami didn’t mean to pry, but he was never the most apologetic person, and seeing a literal ghost did strange things to people, so he had to wonder:

“Do you have any family?”

Kumon talked over the last part of his sentence, “what are classes like nowadays?”

Azami wasn’t sure if Kumon was avoiding the question or if he genuinely just didn’t hear him. Knowing the boy, it could be either. Reluctantly, he dropped the subject and answered, explaining the teachers, both new and old, the students, and how courses were split up.

Kumon nodded and responded enthusiastically. _He must not be lying about never leaving if he’s this excited about school news,_ Azami mentally noted.

They continued talking for a few more minutes and then he went on his way, resigning himself to searching through the messy storage room as quickly as he could. No matter how indifferent he acted towards his teacher, he really didn’t want to have to explain to his dad why he got a detention. “I was just talking to the local ghost,” probably wouldn’t cut it as an answer.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

Pretty soon, visiting the abandoned building became a normal thing for him, even when he didn’t have any real reason to be there. His logic was simple: if he was going to be forced to head there weekly anyways, he might as well get used to it.

Used to _him_ , too.

Kumon seemed pleased enough about having somebody to talk to every day, whether it was bright and early before classes, in the middle of lunch, or directly after school, he was always there, sitting by the door and ready to talk Azami’s ear off about this and that.

If he were to be honest, the routine made Azami happy, too. He didn’t have too many friends in his classes; aside from Banri, Taichi, and Yuki, he didn’t talk to just about anyone. It was typical for people to avoid him due to his family’s reputation, and even without it, he wasn’t the most welcoming person ever. And yet, Kumon didn’t act bothered by his snide comments at all. In fact, he welcomed them, laughing as if they were the funniest jokes he’d ever heard. It was strange, new, and refreshing.

The way Kumon’s eyes shined in the darkness and the rush of adrenaline Azami felt whenever they brushed shoulders was just a bonus.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

Azami didn’t know what he was doing.

“Kumon?” He called hesitantly, trying his best to keep the creaking of the old gym’s floor to a minimum. It didn’t take very long for the ghost to appear at the entrance of one of the few doors Azami hadn’t searched through, looking much duller than he normally did.

The lights were off with no switches to be seen and the windows were too dusty to work very well but Azami could see the way the moon reflected onto Kumon’s face through the crack in the door.

His eyes weren’t shining quite as bright and his hair was even messier than usual. He looked – _tired?_ Did ghosts even get tired? Kumon had said that he slept, but that didn’t mean he got fatigued, right?

“What are you doing here?” He asked. No matter how exhausted he looked, his voice was still the same; loud, excited, cheerful. “And what’s that?” He pointed at the bag around Azami’s shoulders.

“This building seems like a sucky place to live so I came to clean it up,” he explained. “Where’s that room you were talking about earlier?”

Kumon blinked once, twice, and then grinned in his normal, goofy way, his eyes brightening. “This way!” He led Azami into the room he’d come out of.

He was right; it was completely different from the locker rooms and office. It was empty and spotless, ashes no where in sight. _Why in the world did they clean here but no where else?_ He couldn’t help but wonder as he threw his bag to the ground and checked his phone.

Eight o’ clock. His dad was on a business trip and wouldn’t be home until a few days later, and Sakoda went home at seven, so he’d have as much time as he needed to get the place looking better. All he had to do was pray none of the staff monitored the gym.

“This is really nice of you!” Kumon said. “Thank you.”

Azami’s face burned for reasons that he didn’t understand (more like reasons he didn’t want to confront). “If I’m going to keep visiting, I don’t want to stand around in ash.”

Kumon furrowed his eyebrows. “You’re coming back?”

“If that devil of a teacher is going to make me come here all the time anyways, I might as well make it part of my routine. It won’t be as annoying then,” he mended. “Are there any cleaning supplies here? I brought some stuff but I couldn’t pack things like brooms and mops.”

“There’s a closet in the storage room. At least a broom will be in there.” A closet in a closet. Yet another oddity.

Azami didn’t question it. Standing in front of a literal dead boy, there wasn’t much else that could catch him off guard.

Kumon was right; inside the closet was not only a broom, but a mop, a bucket, and other various equipment. He grabbed as much as he could fit into his hands and brought them to the old gymnasium’s front door, filling up the bucket with water and soap on the way.

He got to work right away. Pity or not, he wasn’t going to be out past eleven. Azami started with the back rooms and made his way to the front, sweeping up as much dust as possible then mopping over the floor, trying to get it to a relatively clean state. Being the child of a fairly rich dad, he didn’t have too much experience with cleaning, but he knew enough to make a room livable.

He must have sneezed at least twenty times throughout the whole process; his fingers were practically twitching. Unfortunately, there were a few spiderwebs that were way too far up on the wall for him to reach, but he got as many down as he could. By the end, all he wanted was to take a hot shower and get underneath clean blankets.

Overall, it took about two and a half hours to get the building half-safe to walk in, including the time it took for him to have mindless conversations with Kumon in between.

“You’re really good at this! Do you have a job as a janitor or something?”

Azami fixed his harshest glare on him, blowing a strand of hair out of his face. “Obviously not.”

“Oh,” Kumon laughed, “you could’ve fooled me!”

As much as he tried, Azami couldn’t hold his glare for very long. With the windows finally cleared up, Kumon’s face practically glowed in the starlight. He was really pale, much paler than he must have been when he was alive, and his hair took on a bluish tint that suited his eyes scarily well. He was inclined to ask if hair dye worked on dead people.

But no matter how beautiful he looked in the light, his grin never changed. It made his face look a lot more like a meerkat than a drama show love interest.

_Doesn’t he have any shame?_ He wondered. A part of his brain answered, _clearly not._

Azami made his way back to his bag and dug through the stuff. It was filled to the brim with stuff he didn’t even use in the end. _That’s what I get for overthinking it,_ he thought begrudgingly.

He pulled out the blanket that sat in the bottom. It wasn’t his favorite; the fabric was too fluffy for his taste and the pink-and-green color scheme was disgusting but considering all Kumon had been living with for years was creaky wood panels, it had to be a step up in some kind of way.

“What’s that for? Are you sleeping over?” Kumon asked, floating next to Azami and glancing over his shoulder at the blanket.

“No, it’s for you. Sleeping on the floor isn’t good for your back,” he said, shoving the blanket into his ghost friend(?)’s arms. “I need to head back now so if there’s nothing else to do, I’ll be leaving.”

Kumon was silent for a moment, staring down at the blanket with wide, shocked eyes. Then, his all-too-familiar smile made its way to his face. “Nope! Thank you!”

Azami’s face burned at the praise. “It’s not for you, it’s for me. Just thinking about you living like this gives me goosebumps.” Before he could say or do anything else that might damage his reputation, he pulled his bag over his shoulder and began the trek home, already mourning over how far away his house was.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

“What did you like doing? When you were alive, I mean,” Azami asked suddenly. He wanted to spend his time before class doing something productive. So, there he was, sitting on the second, thicker blanket that he’d brought a few days ago and chatting with Kumon. The thin blanket he’d originally brought hadn’t done too much to fix the no-bed problem, but when it was piled on top of another blanket, they’d found that it was actually pretty comfortable.

Kumon looked almost nostalgic as he thought up an answer, staring off into the distance as if he was looking upon his own memories. “I liked baseball,” he said. “And I always played _Sorry_ with Muku. He’s my cousin.”

Azami hummed, fishing out a pretzel from his lunchbox and handing it over to his friend. Yet another thing he’d learned about ghosts during their time together; they could eat. They didn’t _need_ food, of course, but Kumon said that eating made him feel more human.

“How about you? Do you have any hobbies?”

“I like doing makeup and hair. Sometimes I play soccer with my neighbor, too.”

They were quiet for a while, and then Kumon asked for what had to be the third time since they’d met, “what’s it like outside? Out of this building, anyways.”

Azami obliged him. “It’s bright. Really hot in the summer, too. Winters aren’t much better. Fall is nice, though. There’s a breeze to cancel out the heat and the leaves turn pretty colors. Shifuto likes to take photos of the trees.” He’d talked about his family friend, Shifuto, quite a few times.

Before Kumon could respond, the bell rang, signifying that Azami should make his way to class.

He gathered his stuff, set a cup of leftover pretzels next to the window, and then rushed out of the room.

“Will you be back after school?” Kumon asked from behind him. He sounded different than usual, somehow; sensitive, unsure.

Azami turned around for just a second, offering the best smile he could muster. (He had found himself smiling a lot more since coming in contact with the supernatural.) “Like always.” And then he let the grin drop, leaving the abandoned building behind.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

_I wasn’t lying when I said fall was pretty._

Azami made his way down the sidewalk, backpack hung over his shoulders and shoes slapping on the concrete. Wind fluffed his hair in the back and gave his skin goosebumps. Just a quick look at his watch showed that it was six. He’d been spending more and more time on campus after school to hang out with Kumon.

In the past, he’d never have stayed until later than four, but now, he wished he could stay all night.

His neighbors waved at him as he passed but, just like usual, he didn’t even spare them a second glance. He’d known them for years; none of them had any real interest in being friendly with him. They were just scared of his dad and, in turn, scared of him.

It didn’t bother him anymore. He used to hate the glares and fearful looks he got, but eventually, he just got used to it.

One thing that did strike him as odd, however, was the moving truck outside of the house next door to his. Sitting on the doorstep of that house was Azami’s dad and a purple-haired man who seemed to be the new house owner.

Upon spotting his son, Azami’s dad waved him over. Reluctantly, he drifted closer. The man looked oddly familiar; it was his eyes, mostly. A goldish yellow, just like Kumon’s. The only difference was how dull they were; where his ghost friend’s eyes were bright and full of life, this man’s eyes were dull, as if he’d seen the worst and still wasn’t sure if he wanted to live to see the rest.

“Azami! This is Hyodo, our new neighbor. He’s agreed to have dinner with us one of these days.”

They nodded to each other, just slightly. “Do you go to Spring Hill?” The man, ‘Hyodo’, asked.

“Yes, sir.”

Hyodo smiled, just slightly. “I have a brother who used to go to Spring Hill.”

“Really?” Azami asked. In all honesty, he couldn’t care less, but if this was a potential work partner, he knew that his dad wouldn’t be very happy with him being rude.

“Yeah,” he laughed, looking down at his arms. He looked defeated, Azami noted. _Maybe he doesn’t get along with his brother anymore,_ he thought. “He was a happy kid. Constantly wanting to try new things. He used to follow me around to whatever club or sport I chose. When I decided to do theater, he followed me to that, too. Nothing could bring him down.

“You seem like a good kid. He’d probably like you,” Hyodo said, smiling. His smile was a direct contrast to his eyes; it felt kind, genuine. Azami had to take a few steps back. Seriously, he felt like he had met this guy before. _But Kumon is dead and not twenty-five, so that’s impossible._

“How do you know? I’ve barely even talked.”

“I just know. He saw the good in everyone; no matter what kind of person you are, I’m sure he’d have made an effort to get to you, regardless. If you were to give him the chance.”

“You’re saying all of this in past tense. Has he changed?”

“Yeah,” Hyodo sighed. “He has.”

He said nothing more, so Azami didn’t, either. He just turned around and walked back into his house, shoving the door open.

Weird encounters from business partners weren’t any different from his normal routine. Still, Hyodo seemed different, somehow. Maybe it was the coldness in his eyes, maybe it was the warmth in his smile.

Azami pushed it out of his mind and threw his bag to the ground. He had homework to do.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

“Sorry!” Kumon apologized without meaning it, shoving Azami’s piece off of the board and settling his own in its place.

Azami groaned, slamming his piece back into _home_. “This is the fifth time I’ve lost. You have to be cheating.”

He laughed. “I don’t even know how to cheat in _Sorry_!”

For more reasons than one, Azami didn’t believe him.

Their afternoon continued on like that, going back and forth on who was cheating and who was just being a sore loser until the clock showed six-thirty and Azami had to head home for the night.

“Tomorrow is Monday,” Kumon frowned.

“Why are you so upset? You don’t even go to school,” Azami said, hovering next to the door to the building.

“Yeah, but you go to school! Which means less time for us to hang out.”

Azami rolled his eyes, turning around and heading down the concrete path, off campus. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning!” He called, waving a hand without looking back.

Kumon didn’t respond.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

“You know,” Azami’s dad said from the kitchen, where he was frying an egg. “That brother Hyodo was talking about…”

Azami looked up from his worksheet, his pencil not stopping for a moment.

“He’s dead.”

The lead of his pencil snapped.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

“Did you have a brother?” Azami asked when he found Kumon after school. The ghost was sitting in the corner of the building, staring out the window. He jumped when he heard Azami, twisting around. His eyes were wide, much more like an owl than a raccoon, and his feet dropped to the ground.

“Where did you hear about that?”

“Hyodo, right?” He continued, twisting his hands together. “We’re neighbors now.”

Kumon was silent for a long while. For a second, Azami thought that he was wrong, but then he said, “did he mention me?”

“Yeah. He sounded sad. He misses you.” He left out the part about him being sure they’d get along. Azami didn’t need anybody to tell him that; he already knew.

“Oh,” he breathed, turning back to the window. “That’s nice.”

Azami stood around for a few more seconds, unsure of what to do. Eventually, he took a few more steps forward and said, “you can tell me how you feel. I don’t care.”

Kumon laughed humorlessly. “I’m dead. My feelings don’t matter all that much anymore.” He turned back to Azami, the same old grin plastered back onto his face. “How are you feeling?”

“Why do you think your feelings don’t matter just because you’re dead?” Azami wasn’t going to take the bait.

The ghost sighed. “You have a life ahead of you. Spend it worrying about yourself, not the people beyond the grave.”

“But you aren’t behind the grave, you’re right in front of me.”

“Of course you’d say that,” Kumon’s smile never left his face, but it cracked just a little bit. His eyes still shimmered, except this time, that shimmer wasn’t full of cheer. Instead, it was full of melancholy.

Azami stood beside him, staring out the window. “I take back what I said. I care.”

“Huh?”

“I care a lot.” Azami took a shaky breath, and then continued, “I care about you, I care about your problems, I care about your feelings, I care about your brother.”

Kumon went silent again, looking torn between running and talking. When he finally did move, he just put his hand over Azami’s wrist, looking up into his eyes, as if asking for permission.

Azami wasn’t a very touchy person. He didn’t like when people got too close, especially not people who like Kumon who made his brain go to mush and his heart stop altogether just by existing. Looking at his friend’s saddened smile, though, he could make an exception. He nodded, just once, and Kumon intertwined their fingers. It was slow and delicate. Really, it didn’t even feel like they were holding hands, their palms were so far apart.

“I died here,” he said, quiet. “I was on the baseball team back then, but every time a real game came around, I’d freeze up and get a fever. One day, I got sick in the middle of a match and went to rest in the gym. Apparently, that was a bad idea. It was particularly dry that day; there was a fire.”

He didn’t have to finish. Azami didn’t squeeze his hand, hug him, or offer reassurance. Instead, he just stood beside him, allowing Kumon to take the lead.

“Juza was my brother. Like an idol to me.” He laughed, looking down. “Even in my dying moments, all I could think about was making him proud.”

Azami nodded, “so he said.”

They didn’t say anything else. Neither of them needed to; the rest went unspoken. Kumon squeezed his hand a little bit tighter and that was it. There were no fireworks, no tears of relief, no promises to always be there for each other. Because, the truth was, they had no idea if they’d always be there for each other. Kumon might pass on at any time, Azami would have to graduate one day and leave the burned-down gym behind.

“For now, I just want you to stay.” Kumon finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to be alone again.”

So Azami stayed.

**Author's Note:**

> Can you tell I got sloppy at the end? Cause I sure can.  
> Either way, though, I'm actually pretty happy with this. I don't usually write in aus when it comes to A3! due to already having so much free reign with the canon universe but this time I decided to spice it up. I hope I did them well. Azakyu is a major comfort ship for me, so I really like writing for them. This is actually loosely inspired by Toilet Bound Hanako-kun. Originally, I was just going to write headcanons for this universe, but I ended up writing a whole fic for it instead, lol! Look at where life gets you when you actually try.
> 
> If you enjoyed this fic, please leave a comment (and kudos). It really keeps me writing! If you're interested in keeping up to date with me, check out my tumblr (xxxbookaholic). I mostly write A3! with a side dish of Danganronpa v3 (mainly oumasai when it comes to danganronpa and a bunch of rantaro simp posts).
> 
> Have a nice rest of your day/night.


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